


Do I Wanna Know?

by benevolens



Series: Nights Were Mainly Made For Things That You Can't Say Tomorrow Day [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (2009) RPF
Genre: F/M, References to Arctic Monkeys, warning about too much drinking?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2016-02-01
Packaged: 2018-03-30 11:37:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3935377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benevolens/pseuds/benevolens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's had a bit much to drink....His mind races in a different direction than usual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first posted work on this site. It was previously posted on my tumblr. It was clearly inspired by the Arctic Monkeys last album and the first single they had released. This was written during the time series three was about to air and it's set somewhere in between the first and second episodes of the series.

 

Two hands reach out simultaneously, though in different rooms, in different flats, on different street, to heighten the volume of the same song, in the same city, both grasping a drink in the opposite hand. The song streams a new heavy feeling as the music fills the room and both bodies recline back into their chairs.

He has a glass filled with a double shot of scotch which he sips at slowly now. He has lost count of how many drinks the consulting detective has consumed tonight with thoughts of.... _her._

This song is stupidly sentimental.

He can’t stand music with lyrics; they are harsh, tossing the emotions in your face without tact. He prefers classical music to this type of music, but he has come to like this particular song. He will put up with the lyrics that cause wave after wave of emotion crash in tides within his chest.

Because of _her_.

She likes this song. Sherlock had heard it floating down to the lab from her office and her humming it under her breath as she happily worked beside him.

He sees the allure....it firmly manifests his....feelings, emotions into being outside of his mind, his heart.

_{Have you got colour in your cheeks?}_

The song begins anew and his eyes move across the dark room. He has chosen to sit in the darkness; the empty, vast shadow which echoes the state of his mind.

Colour always covered the pale skin of her cheeks.

Every image he ever has of her stored away in her corner of his mind palace. 

  
He admits finally to his conscious mind that she indeed occupies some section of his mind quite early into his two year stint at assassin extraordinaire.

_{Do you ever get that fear that you can't shift the tide that sticks around like summat in your teeth?}_

The moonlight shimmers over his mobile sat on  ~~John’s~~  ... the chair before him. He leans forward and grasps it in his hand.

 Could he change anything?

A long stretch, surely.

_{Have you no idea that you're in deep?_ _  
_I dreamt about you nearly every night this week}__

He wonders if when he dreams it is of her. He is fairly sure that if he could that is all he would dream of....

Every time he fell asleep.

Sherlock would perhaps sleep a bit more, a bit longer just to see...

_{'Cause there's this tune I found that makes me think of you somehow and I play it on repeat..._ _  
_Until I fall asleep,_  
_Spilling drinks on my settee.}__

He chuckles darkly, sliding the lock screen and entering his pass code, immediately falling upon the singular picture he has left of her as his trained hand movements bring him upon her small contact page in his mobile.

Molly is bent over a body, goggles placed lopsidedly on her face, a spatter of blood on the lenses as she looks up at him with a bemused smile, wondering what he is doing.

“Research.” He says aloud, remembering his reply and smirking into the darkness as he had done that day.

_{(Do I wanna know)_ _  
_If this feeling floats both ways?}__

He always knew where she stood...

Not anymore.

_{(Sad to see you go)_ _  
_Was sort of hoping that you'd stay}__

Did he sincerely think that she would have waited like some sort of monk for him? Sitting in silent reverence and worship of him—prayer for him—until he returned to her once again?

She deserved better.

Had she truly found better?

Sherlock’s thumb hovers over the small button.

_** [Message?] ** _

_{(Baby we both know)_  
_That the nights were mainly made for saying things that you can't say tomorrow day}_

Is that what the nights were for? Being able to reveal your innermost self, innermost feelings, showing your vulnerability in the dark, where none could see entirely too well, only to have the information crumble away in the sunlight?

_{Crawling back to you_ _  
_Ever thought of calling when you've had a few?__

_'Cause I always do}_

He did, he wants to right that moment.

A small voice in the back of his mind nags, “I prefer to text.”

Of course, he did. It was such a detached form of interaction.

He wants more than that.

Needs more.

Sherlock decides he will have to settle.

For now.

_{Maybe I'm too busy being yours to fall for somebody new_ _  
_Now I've thought it through_  
_Crawling back to you}__

He had always been hers.

He could hear the word said in her voice.... the hurt......

_** [SMS: Molly] ** _

He took away her last name ages ago.

Too formal.

First names were intimate.

He’s “in too deep”.

_** [SMS: Molly 009752...] ** _

_** I realise this is late. But I have also realised something else. I need to tell you. –SH ** _

Late in more way than one.

Sherlock stares at the message and scoffs, chastising himself. 

_{So have you got the guts?_ _  
_Been wondering if your heart's still open and if so I wanna know what time it shuts}__

The messaged is cleared and he beings again.

_** It is late, but Molly I have realised something more in my reflections during my time away. I had been wrong to deny sentiment. It is all true that you count and always have whether I was privy to it or not. You, the most integral part to my survival, were the exception to the rule. Caring was my advantage. Your caring. Though, I feel that even as I do not understand these foreign feelings, I fear that my heart is, indeed as you would describe, ‘breaking’. The only remedy I can see possibly think of is you. Your undying love for a long broken man, in capable of love, save for you. Feeling something indescribable for which the only word I can conjure is love. ** _

_{Simmer down and pucker up_ _  
_I'm sorry to interrupt. It's just I'm constantly on the cusp of trying to kiss you}__

He imagines the feel of her lips on his, or at most the soft skin of her cheek as he kisses it....a week ago....three years ago.

That’s not a night he likes to remember.

_{I don't know if you feel the same as I do_ _  
_But we could be together if you wanted to}__

_** This message is most likely too late. Far too late and would ruin your happiness, wouldn’t it? I do that to you , don't I ? All the time? Always? ** _

He feels so oddly sober as he continues, sitting up and draining his glass of the remnants of his drink.

_** I can’t seem to go on. I have such little left. Much less than I thought I would. I had such little left while I was away. The smallest part that I held onto was you. The biggest anchor. I need you now, again. Not to use, but to keep. And to give myself to you completely, if you will have me. ** _

He is losing sense of what his point is. His head gets thrown back against the chair and he slumps down lower.

The glass teeters precariously on the edge of the arm of the chair.

_{Ever thought of calling when you've had a few? (you've had a few)_ _  
_'Cause I always do ('cause I always do)_  
_Maybe I'm too (maybe I'm too busy) busy being yours to fall for somebody new_  
_Now I've thought it through..._  
_Crawling back to you}__

Crawling. Yes, crawling described his effort completely: dragging his emotionally weakened knees across the fields of sentiment which burned brightly with the only path leading towards her; a release, a relief after the long journey.

But he had not completed it yet.

Sherlock sits up straighter, his vision blurring....from the alcohol?

Tears?

_{(Do I wanna know?)}_

He reads it over again, desperately trying to decipher the letters.

Too busy.   
Too busy.

_{Too busy being yours to fall_ _  
_(Sad to see you go)}__

_** Isn’t that what people do? It is what they do? I’m not sure of myself. Not anymore. ** _

 He wipes at his eye, the hateful feeling of the water bulging just over the edge of his lids.

_{Ever thought of calling, darling?}_

He wished she would.

_  
_{(Do I wanna know?)}_ _

_** Equally. Give myself equally as you had once given yourself to me. Yes? ** _

Sherlock sighs, stretching out an arm.

This is all wrong.

He shouldn’t say any of this. He will ruin it just like he always did.

So horribly.

But he wondered yet, the thought pulling at his heartstrings as his hearts does a flip when the glass falls from its perch and shatters as it impacts with the ground and he fumbles with his mobile.

He presses send without knowing.

_{Do you want me crawling back to you?}_


	2. And On the Other Side of Town

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A comment asked for another part....and I think there might be a request for another after this, but I feel like leaving it hanging is a bit more...delicious. 
> 
> This is also dedicated to my dearest Pengu whose birthday is tomorrow. 
> 
> Many Happy Returns, Babu! <3

She is sitting with her third glass of red wine, lipstick stains indicating the many places she had begun to sip from as she picked it up again and set the glass down in an attempt to slow down and....failing.  The pathologist guzzles down the rest of the glass because she can handle another one.

 She _needs_ another one because of _him._

It wasn’t enough that he never wanted her before, then asked for her to kill him, went away and came back by the time she thought she could love another man and move on.

On top of _everything_ , this song reminds her of _him_.

She has listened to it on repeat over and over like he was some sort of lost lover or an ex when really they had barely touched besides the one kiss on the cheek three years ago and the same sweet little kiss on the opposite cheek a couple of weeks ago.

But the mere thought of him brought blood _rushing_ to her cheeks.

If he knew she was dreaming about him again. Good dreams and nightmares…all while still letting another man think she loved him.

(Did that make her a horrible person? It probably did…It really did.)

 She closes her eyes and tips her head back, imagining him in the lab of course (his home away from home) and he is bent over a microscope while mumbling softly to himself. He is smiling the whole time like he has done something very clever and only he knows all about it. She likes that…It’s a sweet little thing that was never meant for her eyes, but now it’s her secret.

 It's one she would cherish for as long as she lives, Molly guesses, whether anything ever ends up happening between them or not (but maybe she should break it off with Tom? He has always known she loved Sherlock, held her when she felt upset about him dying [leaving], but it's not fair. He's sweet and deserves better than someone with no heart to really give him. It's been missing for years and whatever his faults he deserves someone who loves him. Molly doesn’t deserve him.)

 Who will love you, then? Molly thinks suddenly and somehow not having an answer doesn't bother her so much. Maybe it will later. Maybe not right now, but a year from now, two.....

Instantly she wishes that—

Her phone buzzes and throws off her train of thought. Molly's heart is pounding in her chest as she sits up and exchanges her glass for the device only to have her heart thrown into another fit when she sees the name on the message previews.

_[ **Detective** ] _ _** It is late, but Molly I have realised… ** _

She reads the messages with a sinking feeling in her stomach, the song on loop in the background and several units of red wine in her veins. 

_{Do I wanna know?}_

**…The only word I can conjure is love…**

_{Was sort of hoping that you’d stay…}_

**I can’t seem to go on.**

_{Maybe I'm too busy being yours to fall for somebody new…}_

**…Fear my heart is….breaking…**

Her eyes dont fully comprehend the words or how they could have come from the man she had been thinking about all evening. How could these have come from him and why now? And while these words excited her, they made her sad, nauseous and a million other things. Molly can only imagine these are words she has wanted to hear from him since they had met, but now she was engaged and horribly had been wanting to break it off not even knowing if Sherlock.... Thinking his name set off the waterworks and her hands shake as she re-reads the words over.

_{Been wondering if your heart's still open and_

_if so I wanna know what time it shuts}_

_**…and would ruin your happiness, wouldn’t it? I do that to you, don't I? All the time? Always?** _

He echoes the words she once said to him and knows he has never forgotten when he has hurt her, but more importantly, Sherlock Holmes loves her. 

Molly really has a hard time reading it as many times as she would like and thinks about replying because she would hate herself for hurting him and not acknowledging the fact that he has so openly offered himself to her.

_{I don't know if you feel the same as I do_ _  
_But we could be together if you wanted to}__

**…If you will have me....**

**…Give myself equally...**

**…Yes?**

_{Ever thought of calling, darling?}_

Yes? _Yes_? Yes?

Her head began to spin as she tried to figure out what to do and soon enough, Molly is sobbing, mobile falling from her hands. She lies back on the sofa and curls into herself.

 How has she gotten herself into another mess?

_Shit. Shit. Shit._

It's all too much now and she is thinking about all the love she has harboured for him for so many years, loyal to a fault (her loyalty always hurting her). Molly wants so badly to say something, but what would the right words be, if there were any at all? Why did he choose the worst moments? Why?

Molly can’t seem to find an answer fast enough, so she nestles herself into the sofa and thinks she will just deal with it when the storm comes her way (which is probably a bad idea, but sounds so appealing when it all seems to be closing in around you.) 

_{Do you want me crawling back to you?}_


	3. Tommorow Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Words are finally exchanged...Angsty words...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello good friends. I think this is the last bit for now, unless more is a thing you want. Do let me know. Also, sending prompts is a thing too or so I hope. My inbox is quite open to those. I hope to get some more work up here. 
> 
> Enjoy.
> 
> P.S. Should you find any mistakes, as this is unbeta'd, do take it as a sign of your bright, clever minds.

The morning light beamed through the dusty curtains of 221b, leaving Sherlock pawing at his face to try and shield his eyes. The pain in his head worsened when the first thought was of what he had thought about doing last night. He floundered for a moment, arms and legs out of control as he tried to get himself up and blindly reach for his mobile. 

He didn’t send it. 

He couldn’t have sent it. 

He shouldn’t…. 

But… 

He had. 

Embarrassment flooded his chest and reddened his cheeks. How stupidly, selfishly, ignorantly could he have done such a thing and yet… 

Her reply. 

Her reply... There was no reply. 

Molly had read it, Sherlock was sure and she—She was upset with him. That could be the only logical explanation because he had known the outcome last night. She was angry, she wouldn’t ever speak to him, and he would never get to see her or work with her or even, in the worst case, ever be invited to her…wedding-- 

But, Molly would never cut him out, would she? No matter how low he had sunk? 

Sherlock groaned, setting down his mobile and going turning off the track that was still playing on a loop before it made him sick all over the rug. Mrs. Hudson would have a fit and threaten to call his mother. 

Ugh. 

The bottle was still sitting where he had left it last night, by the foot of his chair, just waiting to be drunk. 

**_Drunk._**

It was almost the next best thing to being high or so he could convince himself. 

(A nagging thought says she wouldn’t be pleased with him in the least.) 

What did it matter if she was pleased with him or not? She didn’t have to care for him did she? 

He looked from the bottle to the window and thought of doing something worse. 

Just because he could. 

It was so easy and after all she— 

Sherlock’s heart jumped as if someone had caught him in the midst of the horrible thought he was having. The mobile buzzed and shifted, buzzed and shifted over the table as someone called, but Sherlock couldn’t move. 

How could he have thought of something so…deplorable…Even more selfish than having sent the message to her, half out of his wits… or rightly, with his—feelings-- able to filter through. 

The mobile stopped with a final buzz and then a **_ping_** made him jump again, knowing there was a message waiting for him. He shuffled slowly towards the table as if his legs were made of lead or rather….perhaps he was still dragging his knees— 

[Molly]

Can we talk? M 

[Molly]

I’m sorry it’s taken me so long. M 

[Molly]

Bart’s? Whenever you’re ready… M 

Sherlock scoffed and tossed the phone at the sofa cushion, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he moved towards the window. 

_She_ was sorry that it had taken her so long? 

_She_ wanted to talk to him? 

Whenever _he_ was ready? 

His hand hit the window pane forcefully before he sunk to let his forehead rest against the glass. Sherlock wanted to act out violently (in what manner exactly? He couldn’t decide) at the thought that she was apologising to him after he had just-- 

An incessant buzzing noise. 

[Molly]

Please? Don’t be like this, okay? It’s okay to tell me things. You know that. M 

**_Buzz_** **.**

[Molly]

Just come and talk? You haven’t ruined anything. I promise. I wouldn’t lie to you, would I? M 

Sherlock’s heart was racing…and all because of a text. 

Before he knew it, Sherlock was sat in a cab, tucked neatly into his coat with scarf half hanging on from his neck, on his way to Bart’s. 

**_{Do I wanna know?}_**

**_{Too busy being yours to fall…}_**

**_{Now I’ve thought it through…_**

**_Crawling back to you}_**

* * *

“Chewing your lips is definitely a bad habit. Tell me off if I do it again.” Molly mumbled to the body neatly laid out on the slab in front of her. She’d hardly been able to focus on her work, not even the music was soothing enough to her mind. Not when she was waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

**_{Secrets I have held in my heart}_**

**_{Are harder to hide than I thought…}_**

**_{Maybe I just wanna be yours}_**

Molly let out a heavy breath, still chewing on her bottom lip, despite the warning to herself. Maybe she should make a plan. 

Talk to Sherlock. 

Break it off with Tom. (God, he didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve being caught up…) 

“Ouch!” She cried, whining softly as she could taste blood after soothing her lip with her tongue. 

That was it.   
She needed to do something before something worse happened. (She was going to lose someone. It was a matter of deciding which she couldn’t live without.) 

Giving up on her work for the moment, Molly set poor Mrs. Gonzales aside and picked up her mobile after washing up. On a whim, she dialled him, waiting as each set of rings had her heart racing with the anticipation of hearing his voice on the other end. Sat with her elbows resting on her desk and her phone held in front of her face, Molly began typing out what she thought she needed to. 

Then, there was waiting. 

**_{I just wanna be yours}_**

Nervousness. 

**_{Wanna be yours}_**

Nausea. 

**_{I just wanna be yours}_**

Heartache. 

**_{Wanna be yours}_**   
Complete denial. **__**

**_{I just wanna be yours}_**

More nausea. 

Neutrality. 

Acceptance. (He won’t come now. She was never meant to see what she did.) 

Absolute terror. 

Her head popped up at the sound of the door clicking open and her eyes went wide instantly. “Sherlock…” She breathed, mobile slipping from her hands and onto the desk causing her to jump. Molly looked away from him and fiddled with the device only to find his hand on her shoulder. “I-Well…” 

“Didn’t think I was coming.” 

“You didn’t reply.” She defended quickly before sitting in a prolonged awkward silence. His hand had disappeared from her shoulder, leaving her feeling somewhat cold. 

“Sherlock…” Molly turned and looked up at him, shoring up her confidence slowly. She couldn’t make a decision now. Not when she was so emotional. It wasn’t fair to anyone and… 

“I can’t do this.” She whispered, looking down. “It’s not—It’s not your fault and I just…Can I ask for time?” Molly asked aloud before correcting herself quickly. “I need time to think. I’m—engaged. To be married. I don’t want—I didn’t want this to be this way. I didn’t think it would--” She sighed, feeling the tears gather at the edge of her lids. 

* * *

Sherlock could see the immense pain he had cause her yet again, wondering why he was always too late and thinking about how badly he would like to smash the stereo in for playing her stupid sentimental music at an integral moment when his brain needed full capacity and not his heart. 

“Molly…I never. I shouldn’t have—I have ruined something. You were happy, you’ll be happy. Delete what I said. Not important.” 

He watched as she slowly raised her head to give him one of the most intense looks he’d ever received from that set of eyes. “Not important?” She questioned softly. Sherlock knew he’d struck another nerve, but for what reason he wasn’t exactly sure. Holding his tongue, he waited patiently for her explanation.   
“How could you think telling me that I was the one person that helped you and that—that your heart was breaking at the thought that you loved me, but you can’t be with me wasn’t important? Of course, it’s bloody important. I felt that way for years, I know it hurts. I know and I won’t let you feel like I can’t see it.” Her voice had reached a height and was slowly becoming softer by the minute. The way she spoke, it invoked a sense of—nervousness and that same doubt he’d felt last night, but had attributed in the faulty mechanics of imbalance chemical reactions. A fleeting wish to reach down and wipe her cheek or leave her with a kiss cross his mind before he pushed it away vehemently. 

* * *

Molly could see the gears turning in his head as he seemed to patiently listen. This wasn’t a moment for listening. She needed to know what he was thinking, badly. 

“Say something, Sherlock.” Molly hesitated briefly before reaching out and tugging on his sleeve to pull him from his mind. 

“I’ve taken up enough of your time.” He began, sending her heart plummeting as her hand dropped from holding onto him. “The least I can do is let you have the space you need.” 

Letting out a sigh of relief, she looked up at him with a softer expression. “Doesn’t mean I don’t—that I’m not still your friend. I’m still here for you, but—that other part… You’ll have to wait. I wish I didn’t have to, but,” 

“I took too long and must suffer the consequences of inaction.” He supplied, making her chest ache. 

* * *

God, she was still hurting and he was making it worse. Unnecessarily rubbing salt in wounds that were of his making. 

“Don’t…” He heard her whisper, wiping furiously at her cheeks. 

“Molly, it’s the truth—“ 

“I never stopped loving you.” She confessed, blurting out the words and seemingly regretting having done so by the pained look on her face. “I just need a little bit of time to think. It’s hard to even think straight when—“ 

The room when silent for several long moments and Sherlock kept trying to fill in the remainder of her sentence. 

‘When all I want to do is kiss you’ 

‘When all I’ve ever wanted is to hear you say you love me’ 

‘When all I’ve ever wanted is to be yours’ 

Maybe those were his wants at that particular moment and perhaps those were the things he wished he would hear from her lips. Sherlock immediately shoved those into a folder and straight into a cabinet labelled ‘do not open!’. 

“When what Molly?” He prompted, nearly growling in frustration. 

“When I can feel all the hurting between us.” 

“Take your time now.” He set his jaw, fighting the tumult of feelings that had been brewing and attempting to shove them into a far closet for his own sanity. “Whatever solution you come to….” Sherlock started, leaning down with the saddest of smiles tugging at his lips. “I hope it will make you happy.” He gave in to one of his desires (the only one he would) and wiped her cheek before leaving a kiss in place of a tear. Quickly, he made his way out the door, shutting it behind him, desperately hoping he still had a few cigarettes stashed on the roof. 

This would definitely be, as Mycroft called it, a danger night. 

* * *

Molly was left sitting frozen in place with her hand on her cheek and tears still streaming from her eyes while attempting to collect her thoughts. 

When did he decide that making her happy was his mission? 

When had he decided that his feelings never mattered, especially to her? 

It had become more and more clear to her since his return that 

a) She was not as happy as she made out. 

b) She should have never said yes to Tom in the state she was in, regardless of if she was lonely 

And, 

c) She was in love with Sherlock Holmes and for the first time, she was the one breaking his heart. 

How was it that this felt more complicated that staging a suicide, forging documents and avoiding her friends for the better part of two years? 


End file.
